


this thing of ours

by WennyT



Series: all i see is blue in my heart [3]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: (heh), (inexplicit offhand mention), (lol), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amorality, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Cars&Babes, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dead People, Gratuitous Deaths, Guns&Bruises, House Cleaning, Infidelity, Italian Mafia, Killing, M/M, Moral Bankruptcy, Russian Mafia, Shim&Jung are Not Nice, Street Racing, The Godfather Trilogy References, There Are No Nice Boys Here, amoral sociopathic OCD!mafia don x comare!broker!street racer! au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WennyT/pseuds/WennyT
Summary: This is a love story between not very nice men.
Relationships: Jung Yunho & Shim Changmin, Jung Yunho/Shim Changmin
Series: all i see is blue in my heart [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1481972
Comments: 28
Kudos: 384





	1. this thing of ours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Himitsukii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himitsukii/gifts).



> `La Cosa Nostra (it.)  
> trans. lit.; this thing of ours.  
> ref. the Mafia.`   
> 

It’s a beautiful night. 

Or it was, if Changmin were not stuck indoors doing boring shit he'd rather not do.

The stars are out tonight, and there are no reports of rain. All in all, it’s ideal conditions for road racing.

His lips curl into a smirk of his own volition. Heh. Doing. Yeah, he’ll rather be doing something else. Someone else. 

But he’s stuck indoors. 

Sighing, he tears his gaze away from the fluorescent ceiling lights, and to the pathetic pile before him. It’s still grovelling.

“I didn’t mean to, boss, I didn’t mean to,” it’s still going on and on. “It’s just- I have a family- I have children to put through school, I need- I need money for- I only took a little! Just a little- I-”

“You stole from me,” Changmin starts laconically, crossing his legs. Then he wrinkles his nose. He leans back in his chair. 

The scent of ammonia hangs pungent and heavy in the air. Changmin looks at the worm kneeling in front of him, a stain spreading across its trousers, still babbling. Still cowering. 

Changmin sighs in exasperation and reaches for his Korth Sky Hawk, kept in her habitual resting place at his ankle.

“-I’m loyal to you, it’s for my family but please believe in me, I am only loyal to-”

He shoots it between the eyes.

The babbling ceases, as the body slumps sideways.

Changmin huffs out another sigh and casts an eye at one of his seconds, standing at attention at his right, with eyes focused straight ahead. “Clean that rubbish up, will you?”

“Sire.” The second says, moving into action. A click of his tongue is all it takes for the minions lining the shadows of the warehouse to spring into action. 

Two come over and drag the body towards the entrance. 

It leaves a trail of blood and piss that Changmin frowns at. The clean up crew moves faster at his expression, and soon the floor is clean and dry and smelling strongly of bleach. 

“Change the cleaning agent next time, will you?” Changmin drawls, crossing his legs. “It fucking smells like a public loo here.”

“Sire,” The second to his left bows. 

Changmin toys with his revolver, running a fingernail along the edge of the barrel. “What time is it?”

“Half past three, sire,” One of the captains reports, approaching with his head lowered. He’s got a folder in his hands. 

Changmin straightens from his sprawl in his chair. “That late?” 

The street racing competition for tonight would have already been over, then. Displeased, Changmin clicks the chamber of his revolver. He can’t believe he wasted so much time on clearing house. 

The captain must be brain-deficient. He’s still approaching, and he’s lifting the folder up to present to Changmin. “Sire, here is the quarterly financial report for the arms-”

Snarling, Changmin shots him in the throat. Anything for the imbecile to stop talking. Not when this whole clusterfuck has made him _late_. 

He frowns when some of the blood splatter ends up on the legs of his trousers. His dry cleaners have their work cut out for them, again. 

The second to his right shifts slightly. Changmin turns to him, ignoring the gurgling from the floor. They’ve made the floor messy again. “Why? That one of yours?”

“No longer, sire,” comes the correct response.

Changmin smiles, and stands, kicking the chair away. He straightens his shirt, and buttons his suit jacket. “Too right. I can’t believe you let me listen to fucking twats blather on.”

“Sire,” the appellation would have occurred on bent knee; but Changmin catches his second by the arm. “It’s fine. Just have your minions send that shit over on email.”

He flicks a displeased glance at the floor. “And clean _that_ shit up. Again.”

He would have said more, but the growing purr of a motorcycle interrupts him.

Changmin perks up as a lone rider cruises through the doors of the warehouse, opened hastily by minions who once again obediently melt back into the shadows. 

He can’t keep the smile from his face. “You’re here.”

The rider comes to a stop in front of him after a beautifully executed drift leaves a bold arc on the pockmarked cement. He takes his helmet off, and Yunho smiles at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Changmin says, grin widening. “How was the race?”

“It went okay,” Yunho runs a hand through sweat-matted hair, and tosses his head. He tucks the helmet he’s just removed beneath his arms, and sets the brakes in one fluid motion.

Changmin can watch him do that all day.

Swinging a leg over, Yunho hops off, the clack of his boots loud in the silence.

Changmin tucks his revolver back to his ankle holster slowly, never once taking his eyes off of Yunho. 

Yunho, however, glances away from him, attention drawn to the corpse cooling on the floor. It’s still twitching in its death throes.

“Oops,” Changmin says. He knows he doesn’t sound very sorry.

“You lost your temper again, Changdol,” Yunho frowns, unimpressed. He raises an eyebrow in disapproval, and the minions scurry to haul this body away, too.

“Yeah, well,” Changmin stretches, and scruffs a hand at the back of his neck. “He reminded me it was too late for me to go watch you.”

Yunho turns that unimpressed gaze onto him, and Changmin shivers. 

He gives up the pretence and heads over in quick strides, legs eating up the distance. Coming up against Yunho, he leans in, and breathes in the scent of diesel, masculine sweat and the musk that just is _Yunho_ after strenuous activity.

His cock hardens. Just like that.

Yunho’s not finished though. 

Changmin leans back, even as he slips an arm around Yunho’s waist, over his black racing leathers. Yunho has both eyebrows raised, now.

“I thought you were cleaning house,” he says, chiding. “Not throwing a tantrum.”

“Yun,” Changmin mutters, and slides a glance sideways. His seconds are still here, as are the minions. 

Everyone is either looking at the ceiling, or at the floor, or mopping up bodily fluids. 

Yunho clearly doesn’t care. He keeps his voice low though, and makes his reprimand private. “Don’t do that again. It’s fine to take out the rubbish, but stupid to lose your temper like that. That’s not going to let you rewind time.” 

Irked, Changmin stares at him. 

Yunho stares back, challengingly. 

As always, Changmin bends first. 

He comes close again, and noses against the sweat-slick edge of Yunho’s hairline, where it meets his jaw, and neck, and presses a kiss there. 

“How was the race?” He asks again, indirect appeasement. 

Yunho sighs, and relaxes against him. Over the top of his head, Changmin can feel Yunho jerking his own, sideways. Seconds later, there is a muted shuffle and the low tapping of boots - his men are leaving. 

The doors to the warehouse close. 

Changmin shifts slightly, so he can look over Yunho’s shoulder, and relaxes. Good. They cleaned up the blood and the rubbish before they left. 

“I won,” Yunho says carelessly, slipping his own arms around Changmin’s shoulders.

“Of course you did,” Changmin presses another kiss and scrapes his teeth slightly across the tendon overt in Yunho’s neck. The muscle jumps. Like this, Changmin can feel Yunho’s pulse tripping along. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” Yunho softens further, and laughs. “The police came for my competitor.”

“Nice,” Changmin pulls back in excitement, and is rewarded with an animated Yunho, all glittering lashed eyes up-tilted in their glee, and full wide grin. “Did the clowns arrest them?”

“Well, they had to send him to the hospital first,” Yunho says, and pulls his racing gloves off. 

Abruptly, Changmin feels the glee leave him. Yunho’s hands are scraped and bloodied; already there is a bruise darkening right below his left wrist, even though someone -either one of his men or Yunho himself- has tried a hasty clean-up and most of the grime is wiped off.

Yunho interprets his sudden silence correctly. “No, baby, don’t be angry. The other guy’s got it way worse.”

Changmin lifts his eyes to meet Yunho’s gaze. Despite himself, he’s got both hands around Yunho’s arm. Changmin forces himself to be gentle. His fingers relax one by one. 

He doesn’t let go. 

Yunho ducks his head to press a quick kiss against Changmin’s lips. Reaching out with his other hand, he unbuttons the two buttons to Changmin’s suit jacket, and presses against the white linen of Changmin’s shirt. 

Changmin barely notices. He counts to nine in his head and focuses on corralling his rage. 

Yunho pushes closer. He curves his right arm, the relatively uninjured one, in a reassuringly tight grip around Changmin’s waist, and lower.

Taking a deep breath, Changmin hears his own voice creak out of him. He doesn’t look away from Yunho. “How much worse.”

“Well,” Yunho murmurs, eyes still laser-focused on Changmin’s. “He was slower than me anyway, when I let him crash. I went on ahead to the finish-line -it’s the hill we like to play dogging at, baby- and watched from up top. They had to get equipment to separate him from his bike. It took four medics to load him up in a stretcher for the ambulance.”

“Good,” Changmin says. He’ll have his men go smother that scum in his sleep.

“Not so soon,” Yunho warns, even though Changmin hasn’t said anything out loud. He pulls his wrist gently from Changmin’s grasp, to brush a finger along the high wing of Changmin’s cheek. 

His other hand is stroking circles along Changmin’s ribs. He’s rumpling the linen. 

“You spoil my fun,” Changmin mutters, sulky.

Yunho scoffs. “At least wait for him to wake up, so he can feel it. I bet the hospital’s got him doped up on painkillers now, or maybe they went straight into sedation. He looked like he required surgery.”

There’s a pause.

“You got my dick hard,” Changmin informs him.

“Oh dear,” Yunho says, amused. “I’ll have to do something about that, then.”

“Yeah,” Changmin says, and kisses him hard.

It’s all teeth and tongue and _wet_ , and Changmin nips Yunho on his lower lip hard, and pulls away with the salt of Yunho’s blood lingering in his mouth. 

Yunho’s already breathing fast, eyes slumberous and veiled beneath the sweep of his lashes. His lips are angry, bitten red. 

Changmin goes in for another kiss. This one is open and slick and vulgar and it ends with both their hips pressed together and Changmin sucking another bruise onto Yunho, this one right over the jump of his carotid artery. One of the easiest but messiest ways to kill a man.

He licks over the mark when he’s done. All of Yunho’s bruises belong to him.

Yunho’s got a hand tucked tight at the back of Changmin’s trousers, creeping. He brushes a finger between, within, fingernail catching at furled muscle, and Changmin groans. 

“Wait, Changdol, wait,” Yunho half-pants and half-moans, hand still tight around Changmin’s ass. “Wait, wait, there is something-”

“ _What_?” Changmin snarls, and scratches a hand hard down on Yunho’s chest, where it had tested his patience to find the hidden zipper. He grinds himself against Yunho’s leather-sheathed cock in protest when Yunho takes his hand out, and bites down on Yunho’s collarbone.

It leaves a welt. Changmin’s nearly broken skin. 

“Little savage,” Yunho gasps, fondness and lust mingling in his voice. 

Changmin glares at him and hooks two deliberate fingers onto blood-reddened skin, and _presses_.

The skin breaks.

He leans down and laves his tongue over the mess he made. Yunho chuckles low in his throat. 

“I won the race, baby,” Yunho says, smug. “I took my prize with me. Your boys helped me drive it back. It’s outside.”

Changmin stills.

Yunho reaches out, and drags a finger along the bulge of Changmin’s dick through his wool trousers. His voice is soft and gunshot-loud at the same time. “Wanna fuck on the hood of my new Lambroghini Aventador? It’s red.” 

“Let’s go,” Changmin says. 

Yunho laughs.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part will be up 6 April 7pm KST, because-
> 
> CHANGMIN-AH SOLO CHUKHAHANDA~~~~  
> 창민아 솔로 축하한다아아아아아아
> 
> #창민아_솔로데뷔축하한다아악  
> #MAX #최강창민  
> #TVXQ! #동방신기 #東方神起  
> #MAX_Chocolate #최강창민_Chocolate #Chocolate  
> #당도MAX_최강창민초콜릿_D_1
> 
> Comments are love!


	2. da capo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> `vis-à-vis one-word prompts from Gao.  
> hope you like, darling. x `   
> 

_“Oh, yes, it_ is _red.”_

_“Yeah, so come fuck me on the hood, c’mere.”_

_“It’s going to be a nightmare to wash, later.”_

_“Baby, you have minions for that. Come here now. Show me that beautiful cock.”_

\--

`i. business`

The first time Changmin meets Yunho, it’s for business. Purely business.

It’s a year after his official takeover of Shim Corp upon his return from Europe. That’s a sweet way of saying ‘a year after he took his father out to Bukhansan and executed him headshot-style amongst the gorgeous fall colours’.

The maple leaves were particularly red, that year.

It’s been a year, and things have finally stabilized enough for the company, and the Family, and Changmin can look towards new business development at last.

At some something-or-other schmoozing event, Yunho’s introduced to him as a ‘broker’.

“A broker of what sort?” Changmin questions, sniffing at his glass of red. It smells too vinegary, and he feels his upper lip curl reflexively.

Next year he’ll spring for the wine, if the organisers remain this stingy. Having to endure shoptalk and cheap wine together just makes him feel like a migraine is already coming on.

“He’s just… a broker,” the acquaintance stammers. Changmin has no plans of remembering his name. “Yunho brokers things. New ventures. Things. He has connections. You’ll like him. You like cars, right? He has a thing for motorcycles. Street racing and all.”

“Street racing, huh,” Changmin says, and turns to see Yunho, approaching with a hand already outstretched, and dazzling white grin in place. His eyes, however, are unblinking and laser-focused.

The second time Changmin meets Yunho, it’s for business.

They got to talking about firearms and cars the first time and the conversation never quite ended. Now Changmin’s meeting him for a proper discussion about a new possible route of arms shipping aside from the usual way through China, because yes, to his surprise, Yunho does have connections.

“I’m not part of the Family, though,” Yunho tells him, before Changmin even thinks to verbalise his ask.

There’s a hint of an accent in those teasing words, and Changmin takes too long to parse and place it.

“Jeolla-do,” he blurts out, at the close of the meeting. “You’re Jeolla-do. So of course you’re not part of the Family up here. Not when mine is the largest. I’ll remember a face like yours.”

“Will you,” Yunho murmurs, but he’s smiling. “Such flattery. No, I’m not from the gang families down South, either.”

“Not now, you aren’t. But you were, weren’t you?” Changmin pushes.

Yunho just smiles wider.

The third time they meet, it is _still_ for business.

As so is the fourth, the fifth, the ninth, the twelfth.

When they meet the thirteenth time, it begins with clothes shed on the floor and Changmin fucking into Yunho almost dry with nothing but spit and a curse, so, no. Not quite business, then.

\--

`ii. coup`

“I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” Changmin says, one night. He’s dropped by another one of Yunho’s midnight street races, to watch him massacre the peasants.

To his irritation, he ends up being late due to some road obstruction or other and only arrives after the race has occurred. His irritation only deepens when he hears from the bookies upon his arrival that _Yunho_ was the one who caused the obstruction.

Yunho just flicks him a droll look, from where he’s crouched and polishing the sides of his bike in the explosive aftermath. “That is a very overused line. Particularly in your line of employment.”

“Employment. You’re cute,” Changmin scoffs.

He comes over and leans down to press a proprietary kiss against Yunho’s ear, because there are other racers still milling around, and they’re being watched. Changmin has always liked to show off what’s his. “Why do you keep engineering crashes? It just means you have to wipe down your bike again.”

“They’re fun to watch,” Yunho shrugs, and tosses his polishing rag back into his tool-bag. “The fire’s pretty. And I have to do that after every race, anyway.”

“So messy,” Changmin wrinkles his nose. “You’re messy. Get someone else to do it for you. Someone with a better sense of cleanliness.”

It makes Yunho snort, and throw him a teasing look from beneath his lashes instead. “Baby, that’s not what you were screaming two nights ago.”

“Fuck off,” Changmin snaps, and tugs at the back of Yunho’s racing leathers in retaliation.

Yunho just laughs, and busses a chaste kiss against Changmin’s jawline. “You look good in this suit, baby. So what is this offer?”

“I don’t want to tell you about it anymore, you laughed at me,” Changmin starts, and can’t go further, because Yunho hauls him in and proceeds to tongue fuck the words back into his throat.

It’s a long while before he’s released with a lick and a nip. Yunho beams at him, looking nearly unaffected except for his hair, which Changmin’s hands have made into an atrocious mess.

“Yes you do,” Yunho says with lazy confidence, reaching out to smear a thumb across Changmin’s mouth. His hand comes away stained.

Changmin licks at his lip, worrying at the broken skin where Yunho had just deliberately bit, just a little too hard. “Fine. Yes. So I got wind that some mid-level cunt in the Family has decided he’s bored and wants to indulge in his fantasy of staging a coup.”

Yunho can’t help it. He’s already laughing, hard enough that he’s sprawled across the seat of his motorcycle and Changmin takes a silent moment to enjoy how racing leathers do wonders for his fuck buddy’s ass.

Yunho subsides. “A coup?”

He wipes at his eyes, and tries for a proper look at Changmin. “Against _you_?”

And off he goes in hoots, again.

“Yeah,” Changmin grins at him. Yunho’s mirth is infectious. “Wanna fuck shit up with me? It’ll be fun.”

\--

`iii. fickle`

Yunho fascinates him.

Changmin has a thing for shiny things, and chasing things. It’s the same for girls, cars, guns, absorbing gangs, taking out the metaphorical rubbish. The few boys that ~~are~~ were in his life.

The problem he faces more often than not, is that shiny material things are too easily bought without the chase, and shiny living things like being chased by him.

Not so Yunho. He’s an enigma to Changmin, the first few heady months of the chase.

Sometimes Changmin gets bored even before the chase is done, because the outcome’s clear and he knows he’s won again.

Sometimes, when that happens, he tries to shake up the game a little.

Sometimes, that ends up giving him results he doesn’t quite expect.

There’s always this maddening silence between them, pregnant with words unsaid. It comes without notice in the pauses between their conversations, when they’re drinking, when they’re dining, when they’re driving.

When they’re fucking, and after.

Once, a few months after Changmin takes Yunho up against the wall, and Yunho retaliates with one hand around Changmin’s throat, and his cock deep and high up Changmin’s ass, and.

Once, when Yunho walks in on him in his office, when Changmin’s entwined on the sofa with one of the boys from the usual list of contacts in his phone, because he was feeling bored, and.

The outcome is, it seems, not as clear as Changmin had thought it would be.

Yunho pauses just inside the doorway. He doesn’t say anything.

Changmin stops.

It takes a while, but the boy stops moaning long enough to look up. He yelps, when he sees Yunho.

Yunho just crosses his arms, and smiles. The boy looks at him, then at Changmin.

“Get out,” Changmin says to the boy dismissively, and frowns when the boy is slow to fumble for his shed clothing. He removes the condom in the meantime, and reaches for the habitual hand-sanitiser he’s got at the coffee table.

The silence continues, even as Yunho drifts casually into Changmin’s office. The boy scurries out with a quick bow. He's careful to keep a wide berth around Yunho.

Yunho doesn’t come near the sitting area, and instead leans against the back of the chair opposite Changmin’s desk.

“You can say it,” Changmin blurts out, when the silence expands too much for him to hold back anymore.

Yunho looks up, from where he is apparently studying the wooden grain of the floor. The smile on his face is almost flippant.

It dims a little, when he sees whatever he sees in Changmin’s face, and he shrugs. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“You,” Changmin says, almost dangerously.

Yunho just blinks, and continues, infuriatingly calm. His hands are in his trouser pockets, and he’s got a hip cocked against the arm of the chair. “I must apologise. I am early for our meeting, and your secretary told me I can make my way up. It won’t happen again.”

“ _You_ ,” Changmin says again, but with more feeling. Yunho fascinates him.

It’s quiet for a beat. Yunho just raises his eyebrows. His voice is perfectly pleasant. “Shall we? Do you want to conduct this meeting here, or- we can grab a drink? There’s a new club I’ve been invited to. They have private rooms where we can discuss things. I know the head of security there-”

“I’m _not_ fickle,” Changmin utters with more desperation than he likes.

Yunho just looks at him. His smile is a glittering thing of beauty. “I didn’t say you are.”

\--

`iv. sacr` `ifice`

That night, Changmin deletes the numbers of all the boys and girls that he fucked before, from the contacts in his phone.

Yunho doesn’t say anything, even then. He keeps his eyes politely averted when Changmin makes a noisy production of it, and makes casual small talk instead, about shipping routes and middle-men and shell companies. It's absolutely maddening.

He’s perfectly pleasant and cordial and sweet and it’s all so utterly _fake_ that Changmin wants to take his gun and shoot Yunho in the face, except that that will ruin Yunho’s face and Changmin doesn’t want that.

It means that the whole farce pisses Changmin off so much that he shoves Yunho into the private men’s room in the club, cordoned off from prying eyes.

He’s got a hand at Yunho’s collar and the other arm low around Yunho’s waist, fingers digging into Yunho’s ass.

Changmin’s intent on confronting Yunho, to make him speak out the derision just hanging at the edge of his smiles and laughs, but. It’s one of the few times Yunho manhandles him without any sexual intention whatsoever.

“Fuck,” Changmin gasps, as Yunho grabs him by the wrist and the arm, and turns, and pulls, so Changmin’s locked and shoved away from him.

It doesn’t hurt, not really, but Changmin can’t _move_.

He flicks a glare at where Yunho’s got him in an arm-lock, and looks up and into Yunho’s face.

Yunho’s smiling. His eyes are not. “Please do not put your hands on my person, Mr. Shim.”

Changmin blinks. Yunho’s never called him that before. Not even the first time, when they were introduced. It’s always been “Changmin” in public and “Changdol” in front of his men and “baby” when they are fucking.

He doesn’t like it.

Yunho lets go, and steps back as much as he can, with the lavatory counter right at his back. They regard each other in silence.

“I’ve deleted them,” Changmin snarls, “I won’t fuck anyone else while I’m fucking you. Happy?”

“Well done,” Yunho says. His smile is still whole and perfect and Changmin wants to tear his face off. “If we can return to the discussion at hand? I really do need your thoughts on the shell companies. I have to be off to another appointment in the next half an hour.”

It makes Changmin so angry that he pulls out his gun from his shoulder holster and shoots at the wall of mirrors next to them.

The bullet shatters the glass in a noisy explosion of metal and shards.

Yunho doesn’t flinch. His gaze is steady.

There are words Changmin knows he can say, but he can’t sacrifice his pride enough to say it.

Yunho sighs, and straightens his cuffs, after a while. The grin he gives Changmin is easy. “Perhaps we can table this discussion? If Mr. Shim needs a little more time to think.”

Changmin just shoots at his feet, the bullet pinging harmlessly against the marble tile, and leaves without another word.

Things are left on a sour note that night, for all that Yunho’s entire demeanour was faultless throughout the entire hellish night and for far too long later, even when Changmin tries, and _tries_.

It takes long, for Yunho to finally shed that maddeningly charming and empty smile on his face whenever he looks at Changmin.

It takes even longer before Yunho allows Changmin back into his metaphorical bed.

\--

`v. careless`

His seconds and captains don’t quite know how to react around Yunho. It amuses Changmin.

He’d almost sympathize with them, except that sympathy is an emotion that Changmin has never quite understood. But their confusion is not wholly foreign. He doesn’t quite know how to react around Yunho sometimes either, even though it’s been a year and more.

It’s exciting.

His underlings’ nonplussed tiptoeing does make him wonder if he keeps Yunho around partly due to that fact. He does like to keep them on their toes.

They’ve always been polite, and respectful, and distant.

In the beginning, in between the hotel room hook-ups and quick fucks in the office and the blowjobs in the cars; Changmin knows that his men just took one look at Yunho and slotted him in the category of “one of the _capo_ ’s women, just with a dick”.

He doesn’t see a need to correct them. Yunho fits his tastes on that, anyway. Legs for miles and a tiny sweet ass and a delightfully flexible waist. A mouth literally to die for.

Then one of his captains walks in on Yunho bending him over his desk at home, months after their not-fight. It’s the second time since Yunho’s finally let Changmin touch him again.

Shit hits the fan for a little while. Changmin still maintains it was Yunho’s fault.

“You were the one who was careless,” Yunho points out, voice remarkably steady and belying the speed he is shafting his cock up and into Changmin.

It hurts good, because Changmin hasn’t bottomed for a long, long time.

“Should have remembered to lock the door,” Yunho adds in mocking _sotto voce_ , to the still mute captain standing in shock just outside the threshold, and pulls out, gentle enough despite his words.

“ _Why are you even_ ,” Changmin asks, put out that Yunho has actually pulled out to entertain this bullshit.

He snarls at the captain still frozen at the door, who flinches. “And you! Haven’t you had a time when you have an itch up you? That only a good proper fucking by a cock can scratch? God, Nino, what am I talking about, does anyone even want to have sex with you? With that face of yours?”

Yunho’s actually laughing. He’s sprawled over the desk, and shaking so hard with laughter that even his dick is quivering in mirth.

Changmin just sighs, more irritated that Yunho’s probably smearing cum and lube and messing up his papers; and reaches for the antique Nagant he’s got in his desk drawer.

Nino doesn’t get to react nor recover in time. Changmin settles it, his shooting hand made steady by irritation and arousal.

The itch to come makes him throw the gun carelessly onto his chair, and grab Yunho by the dick even as the body hits the floor.

Yunho gets back to fucking him while the blood soaks through the carpet and into the wood below, to Changmin’s very vocal annoyance.

That particular reaction itself, however, occurs only after two orgasms and thus is too late to truly be of substance. Right now Changmin’s too busy moaning, and feeding Yunho’s dick back into him.

“Think of it as new staining for your floor,” Yunho suggests after, offhand. “Cherry now, instead of oak.”

“Fuck off,” Changmin says.

\--

`vi. reluctant`

Changmin’s reluctant to say ‘I love you’.

He knows he does, just as he knows Yunho knows he does. Somehow that's happened, and it takes two years before Changmin realises that and acknowledges it to himself.

It doesn’t mean he feels comfortable saying it, and he’s glad Yunho’s never minded.

They show it to each other in other ways, anyway. Like how Yunho's things are in his home, his clothes next to Changmin's clothes, his knives next to Changmin's guns, his motorcycles next to Changmin's cars. Like how they make it a routine, to have dinner together at least twice a week, just the two of them. Like how they quietly added each other’s names to their personal family register documents, filed away in some dusty alcove at the local city hall.

Yunho and him; they’re not very nice men, the two of them. Everything about them should have been all sorts of foreign and impossible. They should have met and fucked and either slit each other’s throats or shot each other in between the eyes or at the very least just drift their separate ways after boredom sets in.

Except it’s not, not really. They’re not.

It’s _easy_ , instead.

It’s easy to feel excited at the thought of dropping by one of Yunho’s midnight races after wiping out a rival family. It’s easy to want to talk to Yunho about building a new club or, the urge to rig and sell out an arms trader getting too hoity-toity for his own good. It’s easy, even, to be hauled in by the clowns that are the police and placed in detention rooms and look up after a few hours, to see the Family lawyer, and Yunho, before they pay too-exorbitant bail for Changmin to walk free.

It’s just easy. That same ease, however, makes Changmin all the more reluctant to verbalise the fact that Yunho is now his major, and his only weakness. His enemies don’t need more ammunition.

Although Yunho’s admittedly more than capable enough to protect himself, and then some. 

Sometimes the kisses Yunho gives him are softer, more chaste, and Changmin knows it’s his way of saying it back.

It’s enough, for now.

\--

`vii. treason`

Yunho and he go on going on, and things are good for the most part.

It does get a little irritating when new Families grow and want to challenge him, or there are insurgents that seem to think just because Changmin’s not shooting people in the face twenty-four-seven, that he’s losing his edge.

Changmin always pushes himself to be a little more creative when such incidents crop up. Yunho just chuckles, and calls them “Changdol’s productivity sprints, baby, you know you get really hot when you’re all hardworking?”

It’s another one of those nights, except this one is a little different.

To the public sphere, he’s just the CEO and President of Shim Corp.; and he’s also just been awarded the verdict of being not guilty of all charges, high treason and otherwise.

Half of the public is baying for his blood for being a possible traitor selling secrets to the North, whilst the other half is cooing over his looks and his release.

Changmin is amused.

To the private sphere however, and to him and his, it just means it’s time for him to take out the rubbish. Again.

The whole clusterfuck started when one of the seconds had walked in on Changmin eating Yunho out, and proceeded to tell his own underlings that he’ll “be fucked if he follows a shit-eating cocksucker who is probably a fucking slut selling shit to communist fuckers up North.”

It inspires another second to make plans for that to happen, or for that to _seem_ like it actually happened.

The NIS were involved at some point, and things got messy, but well. It’s good for Changmin that Yunho is a broker.

All’s well ends well, or it will; after Changmin wraps things up.

He’s already strangled one traitor with his own belt, and set another one on fire. Four more to go.

The screams have finally stopped. It’s just as well that they’re doing this in a warehouse on the outskirts of Seoul, because his men are _loud_ under torture.

Changmin had expected better. He’s almost disappointed.

No one else dares to breathe loudly, not after he pistol-whipped the _consigliere_ for coughing. Typically Changmin is more forgiving, but who wouldn't be a little testy when their concentration is ruined?

He’s onto the third now, and he’s spoilt for choice.

There’s a warm pressure by his neck, and he turns his head slightly, to where Yunho’s hooked his chin onto Changmin’s shoulder. He’s got an arm around Changmin’s waist, and a hand wrapped around Changmin's hip. He's humming, and brushing a finger gently against the side seam of Changmin’s trousers, along the line of Changmin's hip.

“Well,” Changmin asks him, impatient and excited. All the killing's gotten his blood up. He's hungry. “What do you think? Bludgeoning, or drowning via oil?”

One of the charges drummed up against him is his supplying the North with petroleum and crude oil.

Changmin was horrified, and offended, when the police had read that out as one of the official charges against him.

“Of all things,” he had complained to Yunho, when Yunho’s finally allowed to see him, because conjugal visits are a legal thing that even the prosecutors can’t bar from happening. “At least accuse me of exporting renewable energy, or laundering money made from alternative fuels. Fossil fuels! _Me_! My Maybach is hybrid!”

“I don’t know, baby,” Yunho says now, indulgent. “Bludgeoning has a nice personal touch, though.”

Changmin thinks about it, and leans over to press a kiss against the curve of Yunho’s ear. “You know what? You’re right.”

He reaches for the spiked metal bat, and smiles. It’s a good night.

\--

`viii. ephemeral`

This thing is ephemeral, the elders tell Changmin. The scant few uncles from his father’s generation that he asked (nicely!) into retirement. The scant few that he didn’t execute, or that Yunho arranged accidents for.

His... affair, they say with averted eyes, is invert and unnatural and it won’t last. It _can’t_ last.

Unsolicited advice comes again, in the form of a family dinner Changmin had been enjoying up till now. Until his fifth uncle of no blood relation opens his mouth to babble more bullshit.

Changmin frowns down the long table at Yunho, who’s laid down his cutlery as well.

Pity. He quite liked the fish. He’ll have to let the chef know.

“We are not suggesting you leave, of course,” is being explained in lowered tones to Yunho. They always make the mistake of thinking Yunho is the one easier to reason with. It’ll be funny if it doesn’t irritate Yunho so much. “It’s just, someone needs to inherit Shim Corp. Surely you understand?”

Changmin sighs. He levels a look at Yunho, who’s seated and still smiling at the other end.

“You are done with the fish?” Yunho asks Changmin, solicitous. The uncle sputters at being so summarily dismissed.

“I find that I’ve lost my appetite,” Changmin tosses his napkin onto his plate.

“Oh, no, baby,” Yunho soothes, reaching into his suit for his Gyurza semi-automatic.“We can’t have that.”

The uncle draws a breath to continue his remonstrations. He doesn’t get the chance to finish inhaling. Yunho shoots him between the eyes almost casually.

As the body slumps over its place setting at the table, leaking and messy, Changmin chortles and calls out, “I thought you’re always on me for losing my temper.”

Heh. On Changmin, indeed.

Yunho’s not near enough, but Changmin still manages to make out his husband raising an eyebrow.

Fourth and Ninth Uncles are on their feet, as are their bodyguards. There’s a lot of shouting.

It’s too noisy. Changmin sighs, and reaches into his own jacket for his own Lebedev. Time to take out the rubbish again.

When it’s all over, and things are quiet, and they ruined dinner irrevocably, Yunho looks at Changmin.

He’s covered in blood that’s mostly not his; though he’s holding his shoulder in a way that tells Changmin some now-dead fucker tried to break it, failed, yet probably succeeded in at least straining it.

There’s a curl of cold rage in his belly. Changmin shoots the nearest body once again in the head, and once in the shoulder, just on the principle of things.

“Remind me to give the chef another raise,” he complains, kicking at one of the bodies in the head while making his way over to Yunho. Changmin scowls, when brain matter splatters over his leather shoes. “Ugh. Useless even in death. Can’t even keep it together.”

Yunho sighs, as Changmin nears him, and looks at the mess that is the dining table and its contents. “That’s true. We always ruin his dinners.”

Changmin hums, and turns Yunho to him, one hand coming up to palpate at the curve of his shoulder.

Yunho lets him, and barely winces when Changmin pulls the silk of his shirt aside. 

“This thing of ours,” he tells Yunho softly, whilst feeling at taut muscle and tendon. Yunho will likely bruise, but it doesn’t feel like anything more lasting. “This thing of ours. It isn’t ephemeral. I love you.”

Yunho just looks at him. His smile is small, and fond. “I know.”

\-- end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #MAX #최강창민  
> #TVXQ! #동방신기 #東方神起  
> #MAX_Chocolate #최강창민_Chocolate  
> #Chocolate #최강창민Chocolate오늘6시  
> #오늘이_카블리발렌타인 #MAX1stCHOCOLATE
> 
> **This is not meant to be comforting, like chocolate. Comments are love. x**


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